Easy Money: A Novel (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard)

Easy Money: A Novel (Vintage Crime/Black Lizard)

Jens Lapidus

Language: English

Pages: 480

ISBN: 0307390233

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

From one of Sweden's most successful criminal defense laywers comes an unflinching look at Stockholm's underworld.
Jorge Barrio is a drug dealer who's in jail again after his accomplices flipped on him to save their own hides. Meticulously, he plots his revenge. Meanwhile, JW, a student working part time as a cab driver is having trouble keeping up appearances with the rich party crowd he so desperately wants to join. And Mrado--the muscle behind a Yugoslavian mob boss--who cracks fingers with one hand and strokes his daughter's cheek with the other, is growing tired of being the go-to man for all the dirty work without any reward. As the three become intertwined trying to carve out their own niches in the world of coke-dealing and organized crime, the stakes get higher, the money rolls in faster, and the game gets even tougher. 

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with Darren Bell, a senior associate. According to trusty sources, Darren Bell was an exceedingly reliable person. The building he was on his way into was ultraspruced. You could tell from ten yards away. The bottom section was made all of glass. The escalators up to the second level, a couple of enormous ficuses, and the gray Ligne Roset couches could be seen plainly from outside. JW walked through ten-foot-high revolving doors. Announced his arrival at the reception desk. He looked around.

upper-class slick, “I’ve never been saved by anyone before. I would’ve died out there.” He could tell that JW’d been moved. “If you hadn’t come.” He reached the top floor. Waited a few breaths. Rang the doorbell. And then there she was. Over a year since they’d last seen each other. Tear in her eye. More beautiful than he remembered. Heftier. They hugged/embraced/cried. She smelled good. They had a seat in the kitchen on her wooden chairs. Two posters on the wall: Che Guevara on one and an

up his fingers. Jorge wondered how many chicks the player dated at once. Two hours passed. They hugged good-bye. Did Jorge see what he thought he saw? Did the guy make an attempt to kiss her on the mouth? Did the girl pull back? Unclear. The Jet Set dude went home alone. Six-thirty. Jorge still in the car. Wondered when something would happen. Bored. Thought about all the hours outside of Rado’s house. Thought about all the people who’d helped him. The blue glow of the digital clock read

could make their own decisions. Mostly used Ratko or other guys from the gym as backup. Mrado had his own business on the side. Import firm. Bought wood from Thailand: teak, ebony, balsa. Sold to fine carpenters, interior designers, and contractors. Smooth sailing. Above all, he needed clean, taxable income. Mrado’s headaches: Patrik convicted. The ex-skin probably wouldn’t hang anyone, but there was always a risk. Fucking shit luck that the skinhead’d been such a hothead. Even worse: that

saying, What are you waiting for? He took two steps forward, ended up a few inches from her face. Waited for a reaction from her. Shit, he was such a pussy. Not even now, with all the vibes she was sending out, did he dare make the first move. He was too scared, too nervous. Didn’t want to make a fool of himself and burn his bridges with her. Miss future opportunities. Sophie took a tiny step closer. The tips of their noses touched. He hoped she didn’t suspect what he was feeling—his heart was

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